


The Flavor of Magic

by FireEye



Category: Final Fantasy I
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 03:57:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17052668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireEye/pseuds/FireEye
Summary: A far-traveled mage teaches a wayward thief a thing or two about the mystic arts.





	The Flavor of Magic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ysavvryl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ysavvryl/gifts).



The further they traveled from the heart of the Conerian homeland, the more despondent she became.  Once they crossed out of the border provinces altogether, her mood became downright gloomy.

But then, she was young and a rogue.  Why travel for your living when you could merely skim off the top and not get caught?  Except in the end she _had_ gotten caught, not by the Guard but by the web of intrigue surrounding the crystalline Orbs of the Elements.  Regardless of what she had planned for her life, if anything... the hand of fate had other designs.

As with all.

Alma threaded her wizened old fingers together.

“Una.”

The answer was drab, curtly-tempered, and muffled by a pillow.  “What?”

“I require assistance with a spell that’s come to mind.”

“I know nothing of magic.”  Alma had met enough of them to know, any other peasant without experience in magic would have easily deferred in the fear of being turned into a newt.  Una’s irreverence bled with sarcasm.  “What could _I_ possibly _assist_ you with, your worship?”

“A lesson in magic, then: some spells require reagents.”

Una shot a pointed glance at the woman sitting at the hearth, sharpening her sword.  Then at the figure cloaked in unearthly shadow by the window, just beyond the crisscross of light where it crossed between the fireplace and the lantern.

The conversation held the warrior’s attention for a spell.  The mage appeared less than interested, but for a moment their eyes glittered out of the dark.

“I’m sure _anyone else_ here-...”

“I’m asking you.”

Una’s dagger sank into the headboard of the bed.  She roused, combing her hair out of her eyes as she sat up.

“ _Now_?”

“Now.”

Alma slung her sword as Una got her shoes on.  Not that she’d need it, but it never hurt to be prepared.  She straightened her hat before stepping forth into the darkened hall.

***

“Flour is a spell component?”

“If you’re creative.”

They loitered outside the inn’s kitchens.  The lanterns had been dimmed for the night.  A small wisp of magic light cast shadow over Alma’s features, but the rest of the hall was still as midnight.  Una’s scowl darkened in the shadow; she remained unimpressed.

“It’s the height of summer, child.  They won’t miss it.”

“I’m not worried over them _missing_ it.”

“Then stop skulking about like a common criminal and get me some flour.”

***

“I don’t understand; why not just _buy_ it?”

“We are on a quest to restore balance to the world,” Alma pointed out.  “Simple men and women trying to make a simple living oft not understand such things, and, simply put, money to buy even the most basic commodities will be limited in the future.”

“Besides,” she added, “Since when do you advocate fair and honest business practices?”

Una’s mouth moved around silent words of indignation, before she settled on, “ _Whatever_.”

The lock clicked open in her hands, and she slipped into the shop.

Shining silver in the pale moon’s light, Alma waited outside for her to return.

***

“What kind of magic is this even _for_?” Una demanded to know.  They’d been out for long hours, practically the whole night, stealing things like flour and honey and milk.

And now they were in an orchard on the outskirts of town, pilfering apples.

“The magic kind.  I wouldn’t expect you to understand, so don’t worry your pretty little head over it.”

Sliding down from the boughs of the tree, Una collected together all the apples she’d plucked loose and let fall to the earth.  Alma didn’t so much as gesture up a light.  Not that would matter.  A thief was, after all, accustomed to working the dark.

Una bundled them into the front of her tunic and stood.  She fell in step behind Alma, implicitly trusting the mage to find their way back to the path leading to the gate.

Alma wondered if she even knew she was doing it.

“I used to steal apples from the Royal Orchard,” Una mused glumly.

“A fine accomplishment.”

“What would you know?”  Altering the grip on her shirt, she plucked one of the deepest red fruits from the rest.  “I was a _ghost_ ; I never got caught, nobody ever even knew I was there....” 

Alma snatched the apple from her hand before she could take a bite out of it.  “Don’t _eat_ my spell components.”

Una huffed in aggravation.  “What next?”

“ _Next_?” Alma echoed.  “Don’t be silly; I have everything I need.”

***

By the hour they had returned to their room at the inn, the lantern was out, as was the warrior in the back of the room.  The mage still sat on the windowsill, robes wrapped tightly as a bat’s wings, as though absorbing the power of the moons.  Alma wasted no time in claiming her reagents, which Una thanklessly let her have.

She slipped her shoes and her belt.  But, a creature of the night, Una was most restless at this hour.  She paced the perimeter of the room on silent feet.  At length, her curiosity got the better of her as she glimpsed Alma mixing and kneading the concoction by the firelight.

Una blinked.

“That’s not magic,” she stated flatly.

“Sure is,” Alma told her.  “It’s a magic spell of the most potent Circle known.”

Invoking a cooling glyph, she pulled one of the miniature apple tarts off the hearth bare-handed, and stared Una down, all but challenging her to take it.  Una did, hesitantly, and the old mage patted her hand in sympathy.

“It helps with homesickness.”

Gazing blankly at the pastry in her hands, Una frowned.  Alma started collecting the rest from the hearth, stacking them in a handkerchief, before tidying everything away.

“I’m not _homesick_.”  The thief scowled.  You had to have a _home_ to be _homesick_.  “I just... I don’t understand my place in all of this.”

“No one ever truly does,” Alma assured her.  “The best you can do is run with it and see where it takes you.”

With that, she stretched and yawned.  Then simply wandered towards an empty bed, leaving Una to her own devices.

Una sank down near the dwindling fire.  With a subtle glimpse at the dark side of the room to ensure Alma was paying her no further mind, she broke off a morsel of the tart.

It tasted like home.

**Author's Note:**

> Please accept this small character interlude in some nameless village in the woods.


End file.
